


little brother

by cptsuke



Category: The Accountant (2016)
Genre: Brother Feels, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 10:41:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8486245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cptsuke/pseuds/cptsuke
Summary: It's a single word in the old man's bitching that catches Braxton's attention.Freak.The word tries to stir up things he's buried away, feelings he doesn't think about and the echo of a brother most likely long dead. It's an old wound and he doesn't think it's ever going to truly scar over.





	

**Author's Note:**

> one hundred per cent spoilers for the movie.  
> this fic is just me trying to sort out my trash feelings on hipster hitman jon bernthal. Its kind of a fucking mess im so sorry.  
> hopefully i remember the scenes well enough to not screw them up too much, but it is midnight and i am very tired, so apologies if things are slightly askew.  
> also. this movie is one of the few movies where i started crying from cute brother feels while there was literally a firefight of mass death going on. ugh i loved Jon Bernthal's subtle show of Brax going, no. couldnt be. no. holy shit. could it be?

 

It's a single word in the old man's bitching that catches Braxton's attention.

_Freak._

The word tries to stir up things he's buried away, feelings he doesn't think about and the echo of a brother most likely long dead. It's an old wound and he doesn't think it's ever going to truly scar over.

 

A fucking freak, the old guy spat, like the accountant his company had specifically hired to do what he'd done, had personally fucked him over. Whatever, Braxton doesn't care about the personal bullshit. His job is to protect the guy, no matter how much his tone grates. No matter how much his words bring to surface memories of his father's critical voice and his brother's hunched shoulders.

Brax mostly ignores it. Well, tries to. Maybe the word hits a little too close to home, and he's trying not to think too hard on it because it just don't seem likely that after all these years of nothing, he'd finally found something.

 

Ten fucking years.

Sure, after the clusterfuck of their mother's funeral – and he didn't forgive not a one of them, not Dad, not Chris, _why the fuck had they gone? -_ Braxton had been able to trace Chris to Leavenworth.

Wasn't that a fucking horrifying thought? Chris in fucking _prison._

And then, just when he'd started working out how he'd get his brother out of there, Chris was gone. Transferred somewhere and then he'd just disappeared off the face of the fucking earth to what ever black hole the US government had stuck him into.

That idea had just about filled him with enough rage that by the time his head had cleared, four months had passed and he'd quit the black ops bullshit he'd been messing with and gone private. Private where he could raise the sort of funds, contacts and _information_ to find one wayward big brother lost somewhere in an entire world.

But Brax had never found a trace. And as the years had ticked by, the one soft spot left in his heart, the small space that had been reserved for his big brother for as long as he could remember and then some, that spot had hardened, gotten as cold as Chris' trail had gotten. And sometimes he had to tell himself that Chris wasn't dead. Wasn't lost forever to him like Dad.

The world might have been a horrible jarring place for Chris, but he was tough and strong and Brax had never seen a fight that could knock his brother down permanently.

He just couldn't understand why Chris didn't – _hadn't_ – come to him.

 

It's stupid, a foolish pipedream, but he tries to pump the old guy for information – for anything - and he can seen himself latching onto things that have got to be purely circumstantial.

(Short hair? How short?)

A weird mix of dread and anticipation sets in as the men he's working with start dying.

Because it couldn't be, it _couldn't_ be.

But.

But what if it was?

 

Braxton watches his second team go down, watches the video as muzzles flash and dying men fall and then there he is, their intruder, with buzzed hair and a closed off face, and Brax can't think anything for certain, the video quality is for shit, and he's spent long years being disappointed as every search he'd done had turned up not a single thing.

But then like a goddamned gutpunch, he hears him.

 _J_ _esus fuck_ , it _is_ his brother running through his guys like they're amateurs.

He finishes the refrain along with him, mumbling the final words like a prayer, like a mantra, and it should feel good, should feel like a victory but his brother's tying a tourniquet around his own leg like it's just another Tuesday and Brax had fucking promised. _He'd fucking promised_ himself he'd never leave Chris' side. That he'd never be left alone.

But here he was, and he is alone.

 

But all that don't matter because he's _alive_ and suddenly it's like Brax has forgotten what he's even doing here. Forgot how mad he was all those years ago, forgot the man nagging in his ear is paying him a lot of money to not just be watching this carnage. Forgets everything but the grainy video of his brother loading up his pistol and painfully getting ready to fight some more.

He doesn't hesitate shooting his last guy in the back. Guy's got a shotgun and more than the will to use it and Brax gave him fair warning.

Brax don't know why Chris doesn't shoot him as he edges out of cover to face him. But he does, he can see it in the way Chris is holding himself. Professional. Cautious but in control.

And Brax is good – damn he is good – but it looks like yet again he's still a step behind big brother.

 

And that anger of his flares back up, and he says shitty things he don't mean because he wants a reaction. But he doesn't get one, because he never gets one, all he ever does is hurt and he hates himself as he lashes out, wears himself away against the immovable rock that is his brother's face. He's just asking for the fists Chris finally replies with. It's not even a contest, he can't keep his arms up, his guard are all useless in the face of Chris' hits, and he's on his back staring down the barrel of the pistol Chris has got aimed at his head.

For a long moment he thinks this is it. It's been a long, long time, but he knows his brother. Chris is here to do a job and Braxton's brother doesn't leave things half done.

But then he looks past the barrel, and he can see Chris' eyes, the minute flickers in his expression and the gun is gone, pointed harmlessly away and Chris shoves himself backwards and away.

He doesn't know how to apologize for any of this, is saved from that agony by his client entering the room.

After the old man ignores self preservation for a self righteous monologue and dies mid rant for it, Brax can see the tension drain from Chris. He's done and now he can move on. Go back to hiding from him or whatever the fuck he's been doing

He's going to fucking cry – maybe he's already fucking crying, Brax can't tell – and he feels bad because Chris always hated it when he did and he's looking in Brax's general direction, eyes flickering up on occasion and Braxton doesn't know what to do. He's going to fuck this up, Chris is going to leave and it was only chance they met tonight, how's Brax going to find him again if he leaves right now?

Chris stands and Brax tries to shore himself him up, he may have been searching for him all this time, but Chris has been actively avoiding him for just as long, and Brax isn't sure he can find him again if he truly wants to disappear again.

Brax chokes on words, tries not to beg, tries to accept that he's going to lose his brother all over again, but then Chris speaks again, “I'll find you,” and relief crashes over Brax.

He tries to stop feeling so goddamned much.

Fails.

Doesn't even bother trying to stop staring at his brother. He's a fucking force of nature and Brax has missed him so _god damned much._

It hurts. Watching him leave. But he lets him. Chris needs his alone time, needs to decompress and do whatever it is he needs to do after nights like this.

Brax can't claim to love his brother if he's going to fuck it all up at the first step. He'll clean up this mess and hope that in exactly one week he'll get a call.

It's been a long time since he had his family. He can wait one more week.

 

 

 

 


End file.
